“From what you were saying last night, I wondered if you might be a little bit psychic. From what I’ve heard, understanding that helps when you cross paths with the supernatural.” He didn’t sound particularly excited by the fact. “It’s less freaky if you understand you’re picking up energetic backwash.”
Backwash? It sounded about as exciting as dishwater. Disappointment edged her mood. “You mean this is just a piece of practical information?”
“For now.” He turned around, a bundle in his arms and a sneaky grin on his face. “Maybe you’ve got a nonhuman ancestor in the family tree. It could happen.”
That sounded oddly suggestive. She eyed Faran, wondering what he was up to. “What’s that you’re holding?”
“We’re having a picnic,” he said, and shook out a large checked blanket. The wind caught the fabric for an instant, making a huge sail of the red-and-white fabric against the blue sky before it settled on the grass. “You know I always want to eat.”
He ducked back into the car and pulled out one of the huge wicker hampers the city’s delicatessens rented to tourists for their day trips. “See?” He opened the lid, and even from a distance Lexie could tell it was packed to the brim with food.
Her mind stalled as she tried to deal with magic and Faran at the same time. They were two huge subjects, both loaded with land mines. Suddenly overwhelmed, she approached the blanket with caution.
It felt like stepping into the past. They used to have picnics all the time. She’d forgotten what it was like to be with Faran like this—drowned in sunshine and creature comforts. She didn’t need to look to know he would have brought her favorites from the deli. He’d remember what they were.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“Sit,” he said. “Relax. I’ve got it covered.”
But she stayed standing, unable to let down her guard. It struck her, perhaps deeper than ever before, how much his revelation of the Night World had changed everything. She was about to have a picnic with a wolf, caught in some bizarre reversal of Red Riding Hood. And she could feel the magic of fairy stones—which was amazing even if he dismissed it as backwash. If it was that mundane, why had he even bothered to test her perceptions?
Faran uncorked a bottle of Cabernet, drawing the cork out with practiced ease. He sniffed it appreciatively.
“Do you still cook?” she asked, still standing.
“Not much. I don’t have free time.”
It was a shame. He really was an artist in the kitchen. “You’re too busy saving the world.”
With a droll expression, he poured wine into glasses. “No, it’s more like I don’t make time. Cooking isn’t fun unless there is someone there to eat it, and vampires make terrible dinner guests.”
Lexie took the hint. She sat and took the glass of wine he handed her. “Salut,” she said.
He clinked his glass against hers. “Your health.”
They sipped the ruby wine. It was the way she liked it, with a good body but not too heavy. “Answer me this,” she said. “What kind of genes make a person sense magic?”
“Recessive ones.” He set the glass aside. They were sitting cross-legged, their knees nearly touching. Lexie could see the forest rising a little distance behind him in a curtain of deep green. He pulled a cardboard carton out of the basket and opened it. “There’s a nice selection of cheeses here.”
“Is there a known DNA factor?” she countered.
“You’d have to ask someone with medical knowledge. I do know there are plenty of people with some sensitivity to magic and it tends to run in families.”
The words held a strange echo, like something she’d heard as a little girl. “But you think it’s from a mixed marriage somewhere along the line?”
Faran shrugged. “Not necessarily. Humans have their own powers, even if they deny it.” He was unpacking the picnic basket, putting out one thing after another: olives, bread, grapes, thinly sliced ham and slivers of dried fruit. “I can’t explain why you in particular seem to be sensitive to the presence of magic. I don’t know anything about your family history.”
She picked up a grape and rolled it between her fingers. “My mother was a schoolteacher. Clive—my stepfather—was a businessman. He was the one with all the money. My brother and I were the only two kids. That’s all there is to know, except for my father. I don’t remember him very well. I was really little when he left. Justin would remember more.”
“Your father left?”
“My mom waited years before she divorced our dad and married again.” The grape was mangled. She tossed it into the grass. “How would I know if there was something special in my bloodline?”
“With mixed families—and I’m not saying that’s what’s going on with you—supernatural skills tend to show up as a person matures, and occasionally not at all. Often it’s no more than weird dreams and luck playing the lottery.”
“I want...” She trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.
He reached over, squeezing her knee. “Tell me.”
Lexie was at a loss. What did she want? It was an endless list, and a lot of it had nothing to do with Faran or what they were doing there. She wished she could remember her parents before everything went wrong. She wished her brother hadn’t become the terror that defined her childhood—and maybe her adulthood, too. No, I won’t let that happen.
“Lexie?” Faran asked. “What is it?”
“I was just thinking about the past. This conversation is so strange. I remember as a girl I felt like there was nothing special about me. Like I was the most boring creature in the world.”
He went still, but it was a solid, quiet stillness. “Where would you get that idea?”
She picked another grape. “I remember walking to school one day and seeing my brother up ahead. I slowed down so he wouldn’t notice me. He was standing in front of the corner grocery store talking to some guy who must have been in his fifties. I don’t remember his name, but my brother was around him a lot for a while. He was a teacher or a tutor or something.”
Faran said nothing, but refilled her wineglass.
“They saw me,” Lexie went on. “I remember my brother telling his friend that I wasn’t anything special. And then I remember the older guy saying they’d never know until I feared for my life.”
Faran looked up. “He said what?”
“At that point I turned and ran. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped. It was bad enough to read the look on that man’s face and realize he was serious. He’d kill me to figure out what he wanted to know. Worse, I still wonder what he expected to find out.”
Faran set the bottle down and captured her hand in his. This time he didn’t try to hold back but squeezed, imparting all the warmth and strength she could ever need.
Lexie desperately wanted to change the subject. She’d spoiled the mood enough, but memories were lurching to life. “I think they tried not that long afterward. When Justin was around thirteen, he stuck me with a meat skewer.”
Faran swore, but she barely heard him. Thinking about it brought back the burn along her nerves. What she remembered even more than the agony, though, was the look of trepidation in Justin’s eyes. “He was waiting for something to happen, but nothing did, of course.”
Justin had been exhilarated and curious, but he’d also been afraid. Of what? Of not being the special one. She shied away from the thought as if it had been poison.
But there wasn’t room to think anymore because Faran’s mouth was on hers. “Hush,” he whispered, sliding one hand behind her head to cup it securely. He leaned in for the kiss, tasting her as if she were one of the treats in his picnic basket. Lexie leaned forward to meet him, careful of the glasses. He tasted of wine and fresh grapes, like some ancient god of revelry.
Maybe kissing was a simplistic cu
re for all that old distress, but it was an effective one. Faran touched her face, lightly brushing it with the backs of his fingers. It was a cherishing gesture, relishing the simple contact of skin on skin. There’d been a time when neither of them had possessed that kind of self-control, and there was a burning deep in her belly that said that restraint wouldn’t last forever. She kissed him again, feeling the warmth in his flesh. He was filled with life, rich and vibrant as the sun-warmed vintage.
“I don’t want all that garbage following me around anymore,” she whispered. “I want to be rid of it and be happy.”
“Then that’s our plan A,” he replied with a wicked smile.
Her fingers ran down his arm, tracing the tight, heavy muscles. He was indeed a male animal, his very presence making her chest ache with wanting. She sucked in a gasp as his hand found her ribs, the stroke of his fingers wildly intimate though they were both fully dressed.
She could feel the tension—the magic—of the place spiraling through her, twining with the coil of her desire. Faran smelled so good, so familiar. Her fingers laced in his hair, loving the rough texture of it.
And yet the ghosts they’d disturbed—those memories she wanted gone—refused to lie still. Too much had come back to life today. The hum of magic clinging to the stones pulsed behind her eyes like a headache about to happen.
Lexie broke the kiss and sat back on her heels. For an instant, Faran seemed surprised but he followed her lead. His blue gaze lingered over her every movement, as if watching for cues. She picked up her wine, ignoring the slight tremor in her fingers that made the red liquid quiver against the glass.
“I think I’m ready for some of that food,” she said lightly, praying he’d understand.
“Whatever you’re ready for is fine,” he said. “This is just the appetizer.”
Chapter 12
“Great fuzzy balls,” said Faran, surveying the main banquet room of the palace
When royals partied, they did it on a grand scale. The kings had at last returned from the countryside, the final treaty arrangements in hand. After that much negotiation, only a world-class shindig would do. About seven hundred guests were finding their seats now, and it wasn’t a quiet process despite the formal wear and good breeding.
“If I ever get married,” Faran said to Chloe just loudly enough so that she could hear, “it’s going to involve takeout and paper plates.”
They stood near one set of huge double doors, watching the guests mill and eddy like colorful fish in a sea of pink marble and white damask cloths. Wheel-shaped crystal chandeliers sparkled above the tables like elegant spaceships. A small chamber orchestra was playing at the far end of the room, but Faran couldn’t hear them over the crowd. It was going to take an army of cooks and servers to get five courses out and that didn’t include the wines. Just thinking about the organization required made his head hurt.
Almost as much as wondering what plots were being woven beneath the veneer of genteel civility. After everything that had happened—the mayhem at the reception, the theft of the ring and the attack by Gillon—Faran would have called the whole thing off. Sure there was money at stake, but what about lives?
But nobody asked a wolf.
Chloe stuck out her tongue. “If you get married, I’m going to get rich off all the bets I’ve placed with your coworkers.”
“Say what?” Faran tried to remember what they’d been talking about.
She thwacked his arm with the back of her hand. “You put on a good act, but you’re the least confirmed bachelor I know.”
He winced. The events of last night and this morning had left him feeling raw both for himself and Lexie. After all this time, she had finally opened up about her family, and now he understood why she had issues with trust. It was going to take time to work through her past. “If that’s true, then why am I not hitched already?”
“Because only one woman will do for you, and she’s right over there.” Chloe nodded toward Lexie, who was deep in conversation with the chief of security for the event.
Faran grimaced, but held his tongue. He’d finally begun to understand much of importance, but nothing was going to be solved overnight. He was no psychologist, but Lexie could still cut and run in an instant.
“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked, suddenly losing her light tone.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit. “Nothing.”
That earned him a sidelong look from the pretty blonde. “Lexie’s my dearest friend. She talks a good line but she needs someone steady. That’s why I’m rooting for you.”
“You are?” He wondered how much Chloe knew about Justin.
Chloe’s gaze slid away. “I’m a romantic. And I’ve got fifty dollars with Mark Winspear that says you’ll have a ring on Lexie’s finger by Christmas.”
Faran made a derisive noise. Vampires were the worst gossips he knew. “You remember she dumped me, right?”
“Where’s your fighting spirit?” Chloe chided. “I thought you were a contender.”
Faran shrugged. Chloe’s faith pleased him, but he wasn’t ready to give anything away. “Let’s just say I’m playing a long game.”
“Just stay in the game, okay?”
The conversation ended there because Lexie was coming their way. She was wearing a silky pantsuit and had her wealth of fiery hair pinned up. She looked amazing.
“All set?” Chloe asked her.
“Absolutely,” Lexie replied, her tone calm and confident. “Mr. Security Maven is very eager to limit what can and can’t be photographed. I think he’d rather I wasn’t here at all.”
“Yeah, well, he’s already nixed the videographer,” Chloe grumbled.
“Once everyone’s seated, I’ll start by taking some wide shots. He’s not keen on it but it’s good to have them for reference.”
“I agree. I don’t know what the problem is,” said Chloe. “You’re the best compromise between no coverage of this and full-on press mayhem.”
Lexie nodded. “How do you want me to fit in with the event schedule?”
“You need to get the personal shots done by the time the meal is over. I need you set up and in place to photograph the speeches. And get some shots of Amelie wearing the ring on her necklace. It’s got a nice romantic touch, like she can’t wait to wear it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lexie said.
“Just remember I handpicked you for glory.” Chloe kissed Lexie’s cheek and left them. “Remember, all personal shots done by the time dinner is over.”
Lexie shot Faran a slightly wild-eyed look. “Do you know how many people are on that list? That girl doesn’t want much.”
“And yet she pretends to be so sweet,” Faran said regretfully.
Lexie’s hazel eyes looked unusually green, as if her inner fires were burning bright. “I’m glad you’re here.”
For an instant, he could see how vulnerable their recent conversations had left her. Her protective shell was still in place, but it had cracked and he’d caught a glimpse of the chaos inside. He ran his thumb down her cheek, caressing the curl of hair that escaped her messy bun. His fingers brushed the pulse of her throat, and it was beating fast. There was too much emotion between them for such a public place.
Faran brushed a kiss across her lips. He didn’t care what others thought. Lexie was all that mattered. “I’m glad to be here. Tell me what to do.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Just follow me and don’t photo bomb King Renault.”
His role turned out to be playing fetch and carry with an endless array of awkward, expensive equipment. He listened with half an ear to the surrounding conversations, hoping for useful scraps of information, but the real perk was watching Lexie. Her graceful motions, the bend and flex of her body, were mesmerizing. Yet that was not what transfi
xed him most. It was the intense concentration she gave every photograph. Lexie hunted her images the way a wolf hunted prey. That much precision and focus was compelling, even sexy.
He’d kept his wolf on a leash, giving her space and coaxing her to trust him again, but the beast inside was growing impatient. A good alpha respected the needs of his pack, doing his best to give each member what they needed to thrive. But Faran wanted Lexie and, as he watched her bend over to get the best shot of a centerpiece, he nearly lost command of human language.
Once Lexie was done with general shots of the event, they moved on to a list of individuals. Given the importance of the occasion, there were a lot of guests who wanted their picture taken that night, either for posterity or in hopes of making the gossip pages. Maurice was one of them. He sat at one end of the high table, next to an elderly duke and duchess. At first Faran thought the musician had worn a traditional black tuxedo, but as Maurice lifted his glass of water, the motion revealed the fabric was shot with a sparkling scarlet thread.
“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to upstage the bride?” Faran asked under his breath while Lexie took a shot of the older couple.
Maurice set down his glass and looked up. He grinned. “Why, if it isn’t my prison buddy. Sit a moment. My date has fluttered off to chat with friends and I’m bereft of companionship. Such is the fleeting reward of fame.”
Faran sat as Lexie moved on to her next subject. “At least you get fed. Tonight, I’m the photographer’s pack mule.”
Maurice laughed. “Ah, you’re working while everyone else eats. I’ve played that gig before.”
Faran returned Maurice’s smile. “I see Valois let you out unscathed.”
“Well, they’ve found the wretched ring now.”
“I heard the princess mislaid it,” Faran said casually.
Maurice raised an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe Princess Amelie would be that careless. Who knows what happened, but hurrah if it keeps Valois happy.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Faran said, noncommittal. “I’m not a fan of guards with guns.”
Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf Page 37
